My Rescuer
by writersz cramp
Summary: Being rescued by a mysterious person is terribly romantic in every girl's eyes. At fading twilight, who is this Dark Knight who whisks Hermione Granger away from two molesters, and takes her on a flying motorbike ride? One-shot. Formerly Rescuer.


**A/N: Hi! This is my first one-shot!! Please review!!! ;D I thought of this story a week ago in English class, and here you are!! Enjoy!

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I start painfully against the walls of the buildings after earning several jostles from the home-bound, hurrying business people. The heels are killing me. Whoever invented heels for women should be burned at the stake! If it has not been for the visit from the company's most important client, I would not have worn the stupid shoes, because I prefer flats and everyone knows it. Heels are for less able women, and those who are willing to be outshone by men.

Eyes trained on the ground two feet in front of me, I have not seen the motorbike and its driver, and I crash straight into the hard metal, the side of my right ankle nearing touching the ground. Luckily, it is not twisted.

I jerk my head up and blush violently, silently cursing my heels. The person is facing me and I don't know whether he, or she is looking at me, because he, or she has on a black hood. Muttering a hurried 'Sorry, sorry,' I limp around the bike and the mysterious person, making my way slowly to the end of the road.

I turn the corner into a side street, almost deserted and dim because of the fading sunlight. The streetlamps have not been lit yet. It is the fastest way to my house, as I do not have my wand with me to Apparate.

I have almost made it to the end of the street when the back of my neck prickled and the fine hairs on my arms stand up. I am aware that someone is observing me closely. I turn and see, out of the corner of my eye, two men, about half a block away from me, sulking in the shadows.

Completely suspicious now, I try walking as fast as I can without leaning against the wall but ends up tripping on my left heel, almost falling. I know perfectly well that the two men behind me had seen everything and know that I am defenseless.

_Defenseless_. The fact hit me like an arrow. I am just a venerable girl without my wand, so what can I do? My panic mounts as I hear heavy footsteps coming louder and louder towards me. I march faster now, ignoring the pain in my feet and possible chance of twisting both my ankles.

'Goin' home, hon?' The voice almost makes me stop in my tracks and dread fills me. I walk faster, but the men are quicker. A strong hand closes on my shoulder and holds in a vice-like grip. It spins me around and I bite on my lip to stop from crying with pain.

'Let go of me!' My voice shoots out unexpectedly, shriller and louder than I imagined. The same two men I saw earlier stand in front of me, smirking in their own perverted way. Their eyes dart all over me and I do not have to be a Legilimens to know what they are thinking. The man holding my shoulder has a phoenix on his bare forearm, and I am filled with disgust as I regard the noble bird on his arm.

Tattoo lets go of me and raises his arms in mock defeat, mouthing 'fine, fine,' but his eyes are filled with mirth. The other man, the one with an ugly scar on his right cheek, grins and says, 'A'right, but you still didn't answer my question. You goin' home or not? Want someone to come with you?' He smirks at my raised eyebrow. 'You know, someone to _protect_ you from unwanted _strangers_,' he taunts.

Without warning, I whirl around and ran, my briefcase swinging madly in the crook of my arm, contents spilling out. I hear a loud 'OI!' and pounding footsteps behind me. I urge myself to go faster and feel my left ankle twist in. But I am too scared to care, too terrified to stop. I speed down the length of the small street and find myself in front of a tattered building, two lanes leading on both sides. To my horror, I catch sight of two men slinking in the left alley, throwing down their cigarettes as they see me and straightening themselves, their eyes glued on me. I turn down the right-hand-side alley and stumble blindly into it, numb with shock.

Halfway down the alley, I see another opening. I shoot into it, hoping to heaven that the men have not seen me. I shut my eyes to stop the tears from spilling out of my eyes. Never have I felt so small, so helpless.

I stop dead. I am facing a dingy blind end, an impossibly tall wall blocking my way. On the other side, I can hear the loud hooting of the traffic and the general noise of the Johnson Avenue.

I turn around slowly and screech, my heart racing, terrified. There stood Tattoo and Scarface, grinning triumphantly, their chest slightly heaving from the chase. I notice the two men I have seen earlier are not there. A little relief reaches me before it is quenched with terror and dismay again.

I stand up to my tallest height and gather all the courage that is left in me. 'Get away from me,' I manage to spit out before Tattoo interrupts with his bark of a laugh.

'I told ya ya sho' git yo' scar off yo' face, man,' he chortles, nudging Scarface, who is standing there smugly, 'Yo' scarin' our guest!' The tiny alley rings with his mirthless laughter. Scarface does not join in; his eyes are narrowed and he has on a sour expression.

He steps forward with surprising speed and grips my collar, his foul breath blasting at me. 'You let us into a goose-chase, girl,' He pauses and I swing my leg up, hitting him hard in the groin. _A girl,_ I thought disdainfully,_ I'm twenty-five!_ He grunts and staggers backwards, face shiny with sweat of pain. I stare, astonished, at his reaction. _I love my heels now,_ I thought, snickering inside. Even Tattoo seems appalled, his mouth opens in a gape.

I punch the kneeling Scarface in the face with my right fist, and then sail in with my left. Before I make contact, a strong hand grips it and twists it back. I yelp in pain, staring into the face of Tattoo, twisted with amusement. Scarface clambers up and I am pinned to the wall, the bricks cutting painfully into my back. My yelps turn into screams of terror and pain as the two men advance on me.

Then there is a flash of blinding red light and I shriek even louder, throwing my arms up to my face.

A second later, all I can hear is the steady dripping of water on the walls, and my own ragged breathing.

I peek out from between my arms and suddenly drop them with surprise. The two men are sprawled on the filthy ground, clearly knocked out. I stare around, trying to find my rescuer. It is only now I notice the sky has gone completely dark, the streetlights are casting yellow circles on the ground. It must be only half an hour after I left the building. It has seemed ages to me.

A sudden voice makes me spin to my left. 'Good kick, girl,' He said casually, leaning against a black motorbike. _He is the man I have crashed into_, I think with a jolt. _What does he want now?_

'And where's your wand, lady? It's dangerous without it,' He says, pausing at my incredulous expression and open mouth. He raises a gloved hand to prevent me from speaking. 'Hold on, I'll take you home. It's too much risk to let you walk home by yourself.' He proceeds to drag me to his bike, but I have completely regained the use of my tongue and I screech, 'Who are you! What do you know about me?' Merlin, my voice is getting hoarser and hoarser with all the screaming and yelling.

'Okay,' He sighs, raising his head to the sky, 'You don't trust me. But I do know a lot about you.' He folds his arms and continues monotonously, as if reading from a book. 'You are Hermione Jean Granger, born 19 September 1979, a solicitor for Whackess and Company. You live in number fifteen-thirty four, Jodie Avenue,' 'Stalker,' I mutter. 'Your house in Hogwarts is Gryffindor, and you had enormous front teeth—' –Here I scowl—'You're best friends with Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. You were always at the top in class, a bloody know-it-all!'

I can't help but chuckle at his last statement. 'I know I was a bloody know-it-all,' I admit to him, grinning, 'Merlin, you sounded like Ron—' I stop, almost biting on my tongue. _Ron_. He had been the best friend a girl can ask for; he knew how to make me laugh, and he was a brave guy. Although he didn't seem to know where to stop complaining, and he couldn't help being emotional and an idiot at times, I still love him, as a friend, with all my heart. Tears are prickling the corner of my eyes.

It has been a year ago, but I still can't forget it. Ron Weasley died of a sudden heart attack last year, exactly the day after his birthday. I sniff miserably, willing the tears to retreat back into the glands.

I suddenly find myself astride the black motorbike, with him holding a helmet beside me under one arm, stuffing his wand back into his pockets with another.

He has led me to his bike and transfigured my horribly uncomfortable high-heels into flats while I was musing about Ron. I point to my feet and frown. They are the only pair of heels I've got! He shrugs, seemingly reading my mind. 'I bet these are more comfortable,' And then he plonks the helmet on my head. I protest immediately, muffled inside the dark, confined space. 'I can't see!'

His voice floats into my ear, and I jump. A radio is installed in the helmet, and I can hear him perfectly well. 'Well, you're scared of heights,' he says flatly and he is settling down in front of me. The rest of his sentence is drowned out by a deafening roar, and I feel the rushing wind whipping my hair back and (**_I can't believe it!_**) a curious sensation that tells me we are in the air!

It is only my second time in the air, after I had been pulled on the broom behind Ginny in the Burrow, a few years ago. It is a wonderful experience, sitting on a flying motorbike, not at all like the uncomfortable, bumpy broom ride I've had. Not able to look down, the fear of heights leaves me and I am truly enjoying myself. I resist the urge to scream out loud and throw my arms in the air. The cool air whips the side of my arms and legs, making my hair dance behind me. I wrap my arms around his waist and we remain silent all the way.

Before long, the black motorbike skims along my street and comes to a silent rest before my house. Everything is quiet and dark; the streetlight on my side of the street isn't working. My corner looks particularly foreboding, for some reason. I breathe a sigh of relief we hit the ground. One cannot be too fond of the air, even though it _has_ been awesome.

He swings himself off the motorbike in one fluid movement and pulls his helmet off. I struggle with my own, unsuccessfully, until I hear him snorts and pulls it off for me. I smile at him and clamber off the bike, dragging my briefcase with me. I pause. What am I suppose to do now? Thank him? Hug him? Kiss him? Finally, I give him an awkward goodbye wave and he nods. I bit my bottom lip and suddenly the words form in my mouth before I can stop them: 'Hey, can I see your face?

I regret it the second later. He tenses physically and says a soft 'Ahem!' I blush and mentally slap myself for tactlessness. Then he reaches over and ruffles up my hair. I yelp and swat his hand away, grinning. I take it as the most affectionate act he can give me, judging from his coolness. 'Don't walk in side streets anymore, okay?' He says in a low voice. I silently nod.

Then he abruptly turns away, hands shoved in his pockets, and strolls slowly down the street. 'Take my bike,' He calls over his shoulder as his parting words.

I shake my head and raise my voice. 'I don't know how to drive, you twit!'

He snorts. 'Ask someone and learn it!' He crosses the narrow street without even looking for oncoming cars, whistling softly.

I laugh and yell at the growing distance between us, 'Like who, you?' as he stumbles slightly, and his hood slips from his head. He is stepping into the pool of yellowish-orange streetlamp light across the street. The soft light splays on his face, emphasizing every feature. I stare at him, dumbfound. He has light yellow hair, slightly yellower than it should be because of the light, pale, pale skin and a pointed chin, a cocky smile playing at his lips. He gives the air in front of him a salute, and then he turns the corner and disappears.

I am still looking at the corner long after he has been swallowed by the inky darkness. Malfoy saved me. _Draco Malfoy_ saved me. Draco saved me. Now completely grinning, I drag his bike to the side of my house, lean it against the wall and place a hand on my doorknob. _Draco saved me._


End file.
